A/N: And this is as close to writting 'that' seen as I'm going to get..
And Soon, My Friend, We Shall Have No Time For Dances
– "Sunlight On The Garden" (1938) Louis MacNeice
She dances with precision, but not an ounce of care for her wellbeing on the edge of a volcano, her stolen Vortex Manipulator singing in broken static.
They steal precious moments where they can these days, her end's near and so she fears is his.
"For our next anniversary," she says, her words hot on the curve of his neck, "I'd like to dance before the Singing Towers of Darillum."
His cheek brushes against her curls as he gathers her into the protection of his arms to stop her swaying ever closer to the dazzling drop.
"How about Asgaard first?"
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